


A King's Man

by garrisonbabe



Series: The King's Men [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 09:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garrisonbabe/pseuds/garrisonbabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter what trouble he found, Benny would always be a king's man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A King's Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



The life of a blacksmith was demanding. Even before accounting for the physical toll, Benny's schedule was enough to send weaker men to their graves. Visit the King in the morning, his brother just in time for brunch, get to the shop right at lunch time and spend the rest of his day and most of his night in the forge. One would think it would be simple from there, stoke the fire, temper and hammer the metal.

If only.

There were the wives of knights that acted more entitled than their husbands, coming around to gossip with the shop girl or ogle while pretending the had the power to do so. As always, the Lords and Dukes wondering where this was or where that was or why this cost this much in silver or that much in gold. Failing that squires wandered all over, insistent to the point of being pesky or so sheepish they could barely tell him what was needed. Complaining got him nowhere, his shop hands and apprentices all seeming to have a _you're the Smith, not us_ attitude when things got rough.

This blade would be the death of him. Of course the great Lord Balthazar would request a suit not only personalized in the engravings, but in overall shape. Yes, he had helped win the war against Roman, but surely it wasn't really necessary to make him fashion a helm in the shape of some giant cat skull? If only he'd been able to talk to the king directly instead of being shut out.

Dean, the _king_ Dean was less demanding than half his court. Combine that project with the wayward stares from his formerly betrothed's friends and it was safe to say Benny, former King's Smith, the Treasure from Lafitte was _not_ in any way having a good day. Month... perhaps year would have been more apt.

The idle glances, cold shoulders, Andy not showing up or Balthazar's squire being sent in for the fifteenth time to check on the status of his armor Benny could have dealt with. Even when the daily check-ins were for a set that wasn't due to his Lord's home for another two fortnights. Those were daily occurrences, really. The final straw was the metal of the decorative fucking weapon. It was stupid enough that Balthazar wanted a curved short sword with no potential use in battle, not with the way he fought. Innuendos aside, the damned thing hadn't been taking to the mold.

Benny threw the blank across the forge and it hit the brick wall connected to the shop and _snapped_ like kindling. The master smith was ten seconds from upending his anvil and slitting his own throat with the broken pieces of Lord Balthazar's special request. Then the door to the forge opened and he stopped barely a pace away from the shattered mess of dull, lifeless steel. Green eyes were smirking at him, tan skin a little darker than the last time he'd had the pleasure to see it. Sometimes his morning trips didn't even give him a glance before he met the King's Hand. Not that Cas was hard to deal with, but some days it was nice to see old friends.

“Look like you're having a hard time.” Dean's eyes fell to the mess on the floor, a few more wrinkles beside his eyes than Benny remembered.

Just like that his anger and frustrations were gone, melted away in the calm tone of His Grace. “Nothin' I can't handle, Majesty.”

Dean chortled. “Can it with the Majesty bullshit, her royal Highness might hear and realize I slipped out of the banquet.”

Benny chuckled in return. “Cassie still a spitfire?”

“And a half.” Dean picked up a bit of maille, thumbing across the riveted rounds. “This is good.”

“Just a pet project.” A silence fell over them, a lingering sadness in the air. A bird landed on the sill of the window at the back wall, but neither of them paid it any mind. “How's your son?”

Dean looked up and smiled, but it only seemed like a half truth. “John's good.”

Benny nodded, suddenly at a loss for anything to say. It wasn't always like that with them. Most meetings had been filled with laughter and smiles, genuine happiness. Then Benny had his falling out with Andrea, the Queen's younger cousin and well, kings were kings, but there were times when a queen ruled behind closed doors.

For a moment Benny wondered if that was the end of it, but Dean set the maille down and cleared his throat, making a point to look Benny in the eye. “She doesn't blame you.” He paused, swallowing. “Cassie, I mean.” Dean scuffed his boot against the dirt and gravel, soft leather tearing in a way that made Benny flash back to when they were children. The crown prince a hellion with the blacksmith's son. “I think she did before. But, you know Cassie, just gotta give her time.”

Benny nodded, smile shaky on his face. Even though it should have been good news, it almost sounded like a goodbye. Another moment came over them and Dean licked his lips, looking like he'd say something else, but it passed just as quickly. “What can you have done for Balthazar by your deadline?”

Benny gestured over to a mannequin in the far back with a full plate body and helmet. “Only thing missin's the shield, plate arms and gauntlets. It'll take some all-nighters, but I'll have it.”

Dean nodded with a soft smile. “And the uh?” He gestured to the pieces of decorative weaponry strewn across the floor.

A heavy sigh heaved Benny's chest. “Gonna actually make me do that, Dean?”

The king shook his head, amusement in his eyes. “No point to a weapon if it can't be used.”

“That was one thing we always did agree on.” Both men held their gaze, tension easing back in. The moment from before returned and this time Benny seized it. “I'm still a king's man.”

Dean swallowed hard, throat clicking with it as he licked his lips nervously. He stepped forward, almost afraid Benny would back away if he moved too quickly. They were within arm's reach when Dean pulled him froward by his apron, eyes snapping up and down, unsure if he wanted to meet Benny's or watch the smith's lips. “You're still a king's man?”

“Yeah.” Calloused hands fell heavily on velvet finery, deep royal purple too warm to sit near the fires and too clean to be around soot.

“Prove it.”

Barely a whisper and Benny dragged Dean back toward a work bench, leaning on it for support while he pulled the taller man in for a kiss. Soft lips pulled and pushed against his, seeking and reconciling. It did occur to him that no matter if Cassie forgave him for breaking off the wedding with Andrea, this wasn't something any queen would forget.

He broke away just enough to feel the Dean trying to lift him. “What 'bout your wife?”

“I'm her king.” It was growled out and Benny knew it was the end of the argument. As much as Dean loathed to throw his weight around like that, sometimes it did have its perks. Dean grabbed him like it had been decades, not months. His apron was undone, slipped over his head to pool at his waist. Unlike the nobility or royalty his skin was dirty, smudges and burns all across. Bald patches dotted his arms from stray sparks and there was a pink gnarl on his chest from a former apprentice playing around with a red-hot mace. He was lucky not to have died that time. The apprentice didn't get off quite so easily. After all, Benny was a king's man.

When they parted again Dean backed away a step, trousers bulging in the front, velvet hiked up his stomach and sides where Benny had been busy trying to catch up with what he'd missed. Dean's eyes were dark, his skin harboring dirty smears from Benny's hands. Maybe it was juvenile that that pleased him, but a man could only be denied so much before he found retribution.

Dean smiled to him, finally as genuine as he remembered, taking a deep breath. “The forge in the West wing of the palace is finally finished. It's yours if you'll have it.”

Benny hopped off the bench and staggered for a moment, unsure if he was hearing things correctly. “Dean, brother, I don't need—“

“Are you a king's man?” Dean wouldn't look away, his face earnest and cocky all at once.

“Cassie—“

“Castiel helped talk her down. Plus, word has it that she might enjoy some jeweled maille.” Dean stepped back in, right hand possessive over Benny's ribs. “There's silver waiting in the forge, a talented smith could buy his way right in if he wanted.”

Benny laughed softly. “You even givin' me a choice?”

Dean smiled beatifically. “Not really, no.”

A deep breath filled his chest, the smell of metal, leather and fire filling his nose. How long would he have to work to make the new place smell like home? “I am a king's man indeed, brother.”

Another soft kiss to his lips and Benny knew he could never be anything else.

**Author's Note:**

> This is for wrenton, my way of saying, "sorry the scifi au is taking this long because it's reached 3700 words and isn't stopping, here's blacksmith!benny for your trouble." ;D
> 
> I wrote it kinda quickly and while heavily sleep deprived. That being said, I hope it didn't suck.
> 
> And I look at this and I don't see gen, but I hope that's okay anyway? *helplessly shrugging*


End file.
